rain poem 1

the water I run in
is the water I am in
and is in me.
I flow in threadbare centers of cities
and grow moss in mountain cracks.
air surrounds me and passes through me,
I wish it were not so cold.
I wish I could be this cold.

I am futile, spitting at all umbrellas.
feet are not my mode;
it is the air in which I mingle.
brother fog escorts this morning
and he is myself and snow—I do not know the form that I will take.
my nature is undetermined.
I am of gravity.
I am unrelenting and spry.
I am of gravity.